To Fez

The ferry was packed. Lots of foot passengers, bus tours and returning Moroccans for the holiday (which we were unaware of at the time)I spied a MEC logo and spoke briefly with a fellow from Calgary traveling with his family. Elke stood in line and waited as it inched forward and the customs guys stamped passports.
All around me folks were snapping pictures through the salt sprayed windows, I figured I'd catch those sights on the return voyage... Apparently I'm a slow learner. Those opportunities when they arise need to be acted upon in the moment. There is only this moment.
A walk, a taxi ride and onto the train to Fez. More dirty windows not conducive to picture taking, I gaze out at the landscape. At one point some young boys heave rocks at the train breaking through the window in the next compartment and shattering the glass in the corridor. Yikes!

I see much garbage lining the tracks in every settlement, mostly plastic bags and bottles. Otherwise an amazing landscape, hills with folks herding sheep and goats, lots of rocks, triangular piles of hay covered in tarps or cob, donkeys loaded down with piles of hay or pulling carts loaded with people, kids playing kickball.
We follow a river up, the water a turgid brown. It winds around back and forth under the tracks, deeply etched into the grey and red soil. The vegetation marks it's passage; shrubby trees and grass, some olive orchards and occasionally citrus irrigated by the seasonal flood.
A fellow gets on and wants to know all about us, wants to help, calls ahead and arranges a place to stay, in a Riad including pick -up by the owners daughter!
He also shares with us the story of Eid Al-Kabir "The Festival of Sacrifice" One of the most holy days in the Muslim calendar. Actually three days, where family returns home, a sheep (mostly) goat or cow is slaughtered respectfully in accordance with Abraham's obedience to God.

In the morning our "friend" from the train sends around a fellow who brings us to the tannery where we are plied with mint tea and shown around.
Up on the roof we can see the piles of skins, bigger piles of drying wooland vats for soaking, dying and I'm not sure what else.


Working our way down we enter the showroom through a rainbow of bags, shoes and jackets.



How hard is it to resist this sales pitch? on our first day?
I do manage to stop myself from buying more than one pair of shoes.
Our guide then offers us a tour of the Medina. Moving quickly, luckily for me, past stalls loaded with jewelry, ceramics, spices, lamps, carpets, djbellahs, shirts and shoes, big baskets of live snails, chickens, goat heads


and everywhere they call out "Ali Baba, come see , the very best, cheap prices etc" A few stops to see carpets on the loom,



pottery painted, embroidery and a Riad being renovated.
After a few days of wandering we did manage to achieve some sense of where we were. Although frequently some young fellow tried to take us on a tour, his hand out at the end for payment.
I felt a compulsive energy around those Medina shops, the desire to purchase certainly encouraged by a mix of the exotic, colours, scent, and the insistent banter of the merchants. Unfamiliar to the process I found myself feeling both embarrassed at my "wealth" and offended by their assumption of it. Realistically we had enough "stuff"to carry around already and yet ... those beautiful plates, that exquisite jewelry, those mind blowing patterns painted on wooden panels or woven into the carpets...


I restricted myself to photographing as much as I dared, later regretting not being more insistent or pushy myself to record the beauty. Although, always in the back of my mind, I had a sense of taking away something that belonged there.
The preparation for the holiday celebrations impacted us dramatically when we went to the bus to arrange a tour south to the gorges and the desert. Suddenly it was not happening, all the buses were full.
A passerby overheard our conversation and dangled a carrot... A grand taxi (Mercedes) south with 4 others leaving that very night...Do I want to imagine, much less experience, myself jammed into a car for an 8 hour drive with 4 others PLUS the driver? And of course , all our "stuff"?
We had another pleasant evening with our host at the Riad

watching Turkish soap opera dubbed in Arabic drinking mint tea and in the morning took the train to Marrakech.

To Algecera

According to our map there were no roads or bridges west of the Guadalquivir river. We didn't trust the map and not wanting to drive through another urban area (Seville) we went looking, hoping there would be a bridge.
The town of Coria del Rio is quite a pleasant place, further south La Peubla del Rio has some interesting streets. But no bridge. Accepting the inevitable we took the highway to Seville, and did manage to avoid most of it continuing on to Utrera. Spent a good hour wandering around looking for a hotel. No one seemed to know if or where!
The church has an interesting tile roof though. Apparently not a lot of tourists stop here..
When we did find the hotel,it was wonderful, a private patio, no street noise and a fairly decent breakfast included.
Elke pilots us onto another green road into mountains past a castle...Another opportunity I wished I'd pursued. Oh Well! Next time?
Many great vistas then Ronda. No idea, no info, no directions, we enter the town. Following my intuition, randomly driving down typical narrow one way streets, I turn left down a promising looking passageway that leads us right into an amazing Moorish castle. Yes that is the road through the arch.
On the left side at the top opposite the castle, a park with gardens and pathways along the edge, on the right, farmland and orchards.


















Inside a "mine" that descends down many sets of stairs to an opening on the river in a fairly deep canyon. Wild!


Driving out was easier than I imagined. Now some serious mountains; switchbacks, great vistas, exposed rock and villages perched on the cliff edges.

If I ever return I'll definitely drive the other way to Ronda, from the south, and take waay more pictures. It was magnificent!


Closer to the coast we spied stork nests on the electrical towers.

In one nest a strange "dance", two storks, one astride the other.






To the left Gibraltar, to the right Algecera. A side trip to Gibraltar seemed too good to pass up, little did we realize what that might entail.
An easy pass through the border (We're in England now, right?) and into traffic, around and up, we pull into the parking for the Botanical Garden and Gondola to go onto the "rock". (unfortunately not running due to high winds)
Instead we walk about in the garden and take pictures. Beside the ticket booth fellows are flogging their taxi ride in place of the gondola. If they can drive up, so can I! A couple of wrong turns and we're onto the road around. It begins to rain in earnest as we approach the light house beyond the mosque.

The drive around goes through the rock and then past some fancy accommodation.
At the tunnel entrance, a sign indicating "vehicles only, danger" etc. Halfway through we met two joggers.
After a few minutes of driving in the dark emerging back into... traffic.
I try again, Elke has had enough but I persist and we do manage to make it up the correct road, although I chose not to pay the 10 euros to go all the way to "Upper Rock" missing the Barbary apes etc.
Thankfully a different road down but again all the way around through the tunnel and back into more traffic!

Slowly inching forward every 10 minutes as 4 lanes merge into one and then we're waved by the customs agent, to finally re-enter Spain.

The fun was not over by any means though.
It was time to return the rental car. We drove around in Algecera for a long time before we found the drop-off spot. Back and forth along the waterfront then up and down one way streets in the old town feeling quite lost.


I must have driven one road 3 times before Elke got out and spoke to a cab driver. He gave much better directions. I only made one more wrong turn and then we were free of the car.

Of course that meant we were now carrying our luggage on our backs and in our arms searching for a hostel. However, in Algecera, not a problem! They are everywhere. One night in one, another night in another.



Hard to sleep though when just below the window is the storage for all the market stalls. Deliveries, set up, take down and cleaning up the mess after, basically your 24 hour busyness.
It was great to walk up and down the streets I had driven, only now I knew where I was.
We checked out the market, someone tried to sell me hash, we tried more tapas, beer and wine. With the strong Arabic influence here, some of the grocery stores didn't sell beer and wine.
I couldn't believe how many shoe stores there were! And so many women in high heeled boots! They were quite something to watch strolling through the pedestrian zone while I munched roasted chestnuts over a thick hot chocolate, Elke with her cafe con leche... or was that beer we were drinking..?

Going to Morocco few people buy their tickets at the ferry. There are storefronts all along the boulevard selling them. A few options, we chose the bus ride to Tarifa, then a fast ferry to Tangier.
Up early the next morning, we dragged ourselves to the stop and were on our way.

Into Portugal, back to Spain

Onto the freeway. Turns out to be a toll road! We stop to buy a map, get off at the first opportunity to drive the secondaries and see the countryside.
I love driving winding roads. Elke pilots us up, down and around through more Eucalyptus forest at what seems to be an incredible pace (it is) after 3 weeks of walking. I spy mushrooms growing on the road edge!
There are a lot of Horreos in this part of Spain and so many differences in style and construction. I muse on making a collection (photographically of course!).... and let it go. I'll just enjoy them as I see them.


The villages in the valleys away from the main roads show evidence of old farming ways.
There is still time to access that information should any one want it and I wonder about setting up some kind of tour... or school...



Driving into A Caniza, we are challenged by the minimalist map. I spy some baskets so we stop and walk about and find the turn off sign for the next piece. We've made a commitment to drive the "green" roads, the scenic routes. I take pictures of bells and the baskets just before everything closes for the midday break.






Onward along narrow roads over mountains into valleys and (I imagine) forgotten little communities where grapes, olives, oranges, apples and the ubiquitous cabbage "trees" grow in every garden.

In the north a river separates Portugal from Spain. Citania de Santa Tegra sits at its mouth, a prehistoric village on a mountain. A series of switchbacks up and a wander around on top, the view somewhat limited by the weather.
With crosses, (a church), prehistoric ruins, microwave and hydro towers I find it a strange juxtaposition of ancient and modern, sacred and profane.




Imagine, 3000 people living that close together, why up here?







Into Portugal, no border crossing, many sculptures and a crazy driving scene in the first town. More winding roads, rural scenes, forest and farm. The roads seem a little wider, similar vegetation (the ever present Eucalyptus for instance) and we make good time stopping in Braga as dusk descends. First we find a hotel next to three churches (bells galore). Then check out the nearby restaurants for the Portuguese cuisine and watch folks promenading around the fountains and sculptures.
In the morning the bells are ringing (it's Sunday!) In spite of the rain we explore around the town. I love the variety and colours of tile work on all the apartments and details in plaster.
Porto is an even bigger city. Free parking on Sundays! Mosaics on churches, tile fronted apartments, funky staircases out back and occasionally a unique manhole cover (for my collection). We take the streetcar to explore. More mosaic in the train station and lotsa statues everywhere.



Without any prep we seem to pick some great locations. Aveiro has canals, boats and tiny tiled houses. Each boat has a story painted on it to do with man's pursuit of women, definitely a male's perspective.
We spent the night in an old hotel, where the concierge came out into the street and lowered the price after we checked out a few other places.



In the morning we get lost looking for the way south due to detours. It was entertaining to ask a policeman directions and have him send us down a one way road the wrong way.
Getting to the beach finally, it is awesome! Very windy and standing in the surf I am nearly sucked out to sea with the undertow.

Driving on at various times I spot, beside the highway, standing alone (or sitting) young women dressed kinda provocatively.... in the middle of nowhere so to speak... hmm?

I take a wrong turn and in order to return to the road we follow along behind a truck full of men (In the back) they're looking at us strangely as the truck turns off to enter ... a prison.
I get tired fast of driving around in circles in towns with narrow one way roads going up or down between old buildings looking for accommodation. Walking around is somewhat better, no one behind leaning on the horn and the choice of left, right, back or forward. With not many hotels to choose from we splurge on a 3 star establishment.
Wandering we find an inviting looking restaurant (not open) and the market which we visit in the morning. It was decorated with beautiful tile work, more examples of the North Line Tiles. Very few restaurants are open, we have Chinese food and drink too much wine.

The highway into Lisbon is confusing, many exits, all in Portuguese of course. Somehow we managed to pass through and around and around after only one false start.
A pleasant drive to Setubal where we had lunch on the waterfront near a large display of painted dolphins(ala whales and bears in Victoria) then onto a ferry across the river mouth.


The peninsula there has a large tourist resort which we avoided, instead stopping to photograph another stork nest.
Further south I shout out, "a coke ork!" on spotting my first Cork Oak. I'd been anticipating this for years! Since a school project on Portugal to be exact. Elke laughs hysterically.

Randomly Elke picks Albufeira for our last night in Portugal. The road in, down to the "beach" is narrow, steep and one way. When the hostel we are looking for turns out to be closed for the season, a nearby woman sends us to a restaurant where the owner rents out rooms, reasonably too.
This is totally a tourist town, pricey hotels, gift shops galore and most everyone speaks English.
Wandering we're accosted by men attempting to entice us in to each eating establishment. Elke is charmed by one fellow and we have dinner and drinks while watching the parade. A vigorous night scene, hearing live music, we work our way around the musicians set up between three or four bars and have another drink, while a constant stream of family vacationers negotiate the narrow passageway.


It was windy and raining in the morning, the beach deserted except for a hardy runner. A quick tour of the vistas and storefronts, some photographs and we exit the town following the coast
searching out one last glimpse of the sea before driving around in circles attempting to avoid Seville.

Santiago

I have fond memories of Santiago, where we stayed with a friend and had an opportunity to relax, stop moving and sight-see.
Still with backpacks I rebel and refuse to go to mass. Elke calls our contact who sends his housemate Jesus (pronounced Suso) to get us. We're sitting at a cafe. The German fellow I connected with stops to talk, he's flying out in the morning. I'm feeling a sense of loss when I walk away. No contact info, I feel dumb for not initiating it and wonder if this is how it is… We walk together, make "friends" then walk away back into our own lives.
Jesus takes us past the university then up the hillside to our temporary residence. Struggling with our limited Spanish we attempt to make conversation.
My 40 year old Spanish is still not coming back.
I'm happy when Jesus brings out a book on the local cogumelos (Gallician/Potuguese for mushrooms) and we have some laughs as I read out the descriptions of familiar fungi.
Cesar arrives and we go out on the town. That local music fest means some of his favourite haunts are unavailable due to the crowds. Wall to wall, a taxi inches through, the crowd parting then re-forming.
We sample tapas of many kinds,I pass on the fried pigs ears. Later hang out at a bar with a terrace/patio on a sloping street. I'm afraid to lean back or I'll tumble out of my chair down to the building below. The walls around create some interesting acoustic affects, what with roving bands and many conversations all around. It sounds like birds singing. I feel completely alone and removed from the scene. When I share, Elke is having a similar experience.

Cesar takes us on a tour of the old town, showing us the best examples of various forms of architecture including chimneys


More tapas, special hang-out spots and the town market;.
fish, meat, vegetables, fruit, home-brewed liquors, honey, potted plants, kitchenware and clothing.




Another day we drive into the country where his friends have bought land. They take us on a walk-about, among the eucalyptus, pines and oaks, sharing their visions for the future.
Later we walk down to an old mill site on the river. Jesus opens up a chestnut to eat raw, on the way back we fill our pockets.

We do laundry, collect our stuff at the post office, run into more peregrinos, get our certificate and go to mass in the Cathedral.













Outside and above Santiago, an architectural monument of epic proportions in stone and glass is under construction. Visible from almost everywhere it demands a visit.I am awed by the scale of it, although it seems less than people friendly, we explore what is finished and go away feeling somewhat stunned.





The final piece of pilgrimage includes a trip out to Fisterra. On the way a visit to Cesar's work place, a stone cutting establishment. Inside the owner has a spiral staircase with a sawblade for a door.It rains.

Sunshine at the coast, the tradition is to burn some item of clothing out on the rocks below the lighthouse. Instead we sit and contemplate the vast scene, trying not to inhale the smoke as folks are burning their socks, backpack or what have you, mostly synthetic. Yuck!
There are little blackened spots all over the bare rocks, evidence of fire burning the almost (now) non existent vegetation and "shrines" where folks have left behind their stuff.



Driving south along the shore to a favourite beach, another tradition is to strip down and jump in. I stand at the edge to check out the temperature, brrr! Hardly a soul here today, Cesar tells us in the summer it's packed with people.


A bit of car trouble, we head back and in the morning the car won't start. I go off with Cesar once it's running to look for parts. Eventually he determines he will need to drive to his home town 6 hours away. He leaves later that afternoon.
Time for us to move on as well, I go to the market buy fruit, cheese and bread for our trip south. In the morning we rent a car and I get to drive!

Tria Castelo to Santiago

Another walk along a busy road in the dark of morning then down a narrow lane and we are in an amazing, rich and completely rural reality. We see our first or at least notice the horreos/corn cribs and corn drying in a barn.
Passing through forest and pasture. A pleasant time with hardly a soul seen. Up and down, through town and countryside to Samos and the big Monastery there. The age of some of these settlements is awe inspiring.
Onward ever forward. Along a stream in a park Elke spots a solitary Shaggy Mane mushroom, close by some unidentified white caps pushing up through the lawn and duff. After a short conversation I get funked up and stride off alone with my machinations. When I slow down and Elke catches up we sit on the grass, have bread and cheese and share our thoughts.
Up endless stairs to an albergue in Sarria. Turns out to be crowded and disgustingly dirty. We forfeit our money and move onto another which inadvertently gives us a "private" room! Excellent food and we meet more interesting peregrinos.
Walk along the tracks in the morning before the train goes by, stop with others to take a picture of a Chestnut tree.
Elke gives me a roadside back adjustment, we switch packs again. See horseback riders, folks without packs. Lots of horreos and an amazing dust devil winding across a ploughed field. By the time I thought of taking a picture…
A long narrow bridge, walking up stairs into Porto Marin. The town was moved up hill when they dammed the river, which when we walked by was almost non-existent. In the church the numbers on the stones still visible for reassembly.
Quince jelly with cheese,and calamari, the place is famous for it's Pulpe or Octopus restaurants. We are, how far from the ocean?
Full moon in the morning, forest fire smoking off to the right, grapes wild at the side of the road and then Palas de Rei where we splurged on a hotel. Dinner with a gang of familiar folks. In the morning send our packs ahead.
Over a Roman bridge and into Melide. We stop for refreshment. My city sense gone I'm overwhelmed and glad to find the Camino takes us up narrow lanes with no traffic. Away from the town down alleyways of big Eucalyptus, we get into a rhythm holding hands over a walking stick pulling us up the hills. Stopping to cool off I stuck my head under the water spewing from a fountain.
Castaneda, cannot find it in google maps! Most would hardly glance, a small albergue with a bar off to one side, 4 beds in one room 2 in the other. Our bags are here. A walk through town, not the Camino route, nets a beautiful shot of sunset over the cemetery, I pick apples, figs and kiwis. After dinner (with a glass of a digestive, local herbal liqueur as a bonus) we meet a Swiss fellow who walked 45km that day, making up for time lost due to a major blister…
Pedrouzo. We reconnect with many of our Camino family.Stay at a big albergue, like the pool below the falls where the salmon congregate before making the big jump. In the morning we follow Alberto with his flashlight through more Eucalyptus forest till dawn arrives. Stop beside a busy road and make a short video of the walls and ceiling of a small bar covered with comments and names.
A large statue/monument marks … something and there away in the distance is Santiago. Past the airport, planes roaring up and away as we walk under pergolas, grape arbors at the side of the road, under freeways around factories, gunshots in succession nearby.
Into the city over a freeway across busy streets. There are cyclists filming each other riding hands free past the Santiago sign. We stop to eat and watch as peregrinos stream past. I cheer them on.
Revitalized we walk on to the cafe where our bags are waiting. A music festival where bands roam from cafe to cafe is in full swing. Traditional Gallician, loud and boisterous, people are dancing in the streets. We work our way down then up and over the hump, towards the Cathedral.
The square is busy with arriving peregrinos talking pictures of themselves, congratulating each other and flaked out against the building walls.
We made it!